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Don't wait up

04/13/2022

Pairing: Walter Marshall x fem!reader (3rd person)

Word Count: 2,748

Warnings: language, angst, graphic description of a wet, freshly showered Walter, fluff

Summary: It's your anniversary and Walter has stood you up—again. When he finally comes home to apologise, he finds the house empty.

A/N: I can't believe this has been sitting in my WIPs for eight months now. I'm glad my muse finally showed mercy on poor Walter and let me finish this. It's my first time writing for the bear. Hope you like it.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Picture found on Pinterest (cropped)

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

With a sigh he checked the time before he turned off the engine and the headlights died away, leaving him in the dim light of the console. Already past ten. And he had done it again. A soft thud echoed through the cockpit as his head fell back against the head rest and his eyes shut out the world for a moment. He could see them so clearly now, her eyes, sombre from the disappointment, breaking his heart even before he would finally face her rightful wrath.

Although the day had started out rather promisingly. He had been in high spirits when he left the house, happy that this year he wouldn’t screw up again. Already two weeks ago he had made reservations at her favourite restaurant and requested to take half the day off. He had wanted to do everything right, clean up the house, iron the light blue shirt she liked so much on him, buy some champagne, strawberries and vanilla bubble bath for dessert, hell, he had even put candles and rose petals for the bedroom on the shopping list.

After all, he had a lot to make up for. There had been so much work lately, forcing him to leave early in the morning and return home past her bedtime almost every night. Of course, in his job that wasn’t unusual. There were always times when a case would keep him away from her more than he liked, but this time it had been particularly bad. He missed her terribly and he knew that she felt the same, although she never complained. She never would, that’s not who she was, but he could see it in her eyes sometimes or feel it in the way she hugged him tightly when he came to bed, her mind already far away in a dream while her body was still seeking his warmth subconsciously.

And today of all days hadn’t been any different. Something had come up last minute, shattering his meticulous plans. It was always something, he thought. It didn’t even matter what it was, he had let it become more important than her once again and that was inexcusable.

With a scowl, he glared down at the paper bag and the bunch of half-wilted red roses next to him. What a joke. She had probably eaten by now anyway and in case she had not, sitting down with him for a romantic self-made dinner was most likely the last thing she wanted to do tonight. But it was the least he could do, to just try, to apologise and hope for her forgiveness, if only because he didn’t know what he would do if she wouldn’t grant him her pardon.

But as he marched over to the front door, his measly offerings clutched to his side, he knew there wasn’t much hope left. The windows were pitch black, showing no signs of life whatsoever and when he stepped inside, he was greeted with nothing but glum silence.

“Y/N?” he asked into the darkness, tentatively. He hadn’t expected an answer and yet his chest constricted painfully for a moment. Setting down the bag on the kitchen island carefully, he huffed at the tattered flowers in his hand before he ascended the stairs, not prepared in the least to deal with the bitter resentment in her eyes.

“Y/N?”

Softly his knuckles pressed against the white wood, as if they were afraid to startle a sleeping fury. But again, there was no answer, giving him the chance to take one last deep breath before he stepped into the bedroom.

“Honey, I’m sorry,” he babbled while he crossed the room blindly. “I know I fucked up again, but—“ He halted instantly as the dull light of his bedside lamp illuminated the room, revealing that he had in fact been talking to himself. “Honey?” his voice bellowed through the room, loud enough that she would have heard him in the last corner of the house, but it stayed silent. He already knew that it was for nothing when he hurried into the corridor to roar her name again. His stomach twisted violently, sending a wave of panic through him that made his head spin when he finally reached for his phone.

A message. How could he not have seen that any sooner? Eyebrows knit together tightly, the first drops of sweat began to bead on his forehead as the three words slowly sank in.

DON’T WAIT UP

No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.

“Fuck!” he hollered into the emptiness of their home, an emptiness that began to seep under his skin as well, taking hold of him bit by bit as his back slumped into the wall and he slid down onto the floor.

Happy fucking anniversary.

Softly the terry cloth rubbed along his impressive thighs, the vibration of his steps sending some drops of water flying from his wet curls onto his bare shoulders from where they set out to cascade down his back and front, some of them catching in his lush chest hair to sparkle in the warm light of the empty bedroom. He would call her again, probably just another fruitless attempt like the other ten times he had tried to reach her before finally deciding to take a shower.

If only he knew she was someplace safe. He was almost sure that she was, but this last bit of uncertainty kept nagging in the back of his head, making his heart heavy and his stomach turn every time he imagined what might happen to her if she wasn’t. Fucking job. It served him right though, this torture. Maybe it was exactly what he needed to finally wake up—if only it wasn’t too late already.

With a determined motion, his hand set out to grab his phone from the messy pile of clothes he had left on the bed, his knuckles brushing a piece of white paper in the process. A piece of paper that definitely hadn’t been there when he had vanished into the bathroom a few minutes ago.

His phone thudding back onto the bed, he scooped up the small, folded sheet with a pair of shaky hands. Carefully his fingers unfurled the note, the paper trembling violently between them, making it almost impossible to read the black letters.

MEET ME IN THE TRUCK IN 10. DON’T BE LATE—AGAIN…

He couldn’t remember an occasion at which he had gotten dressed faster than now. Skipping the underwear, he ripped a pair of khaki shorts and a plain black T-shirt out of the wardrobe before he hastily set out to dry his hair off with the towel that had sat on his hips mere seconds ago.

His heart was beating at full speed when he finally made it to the head of the stairs, flying down the carpeted wood at a reckless pace, only one thought on his mind. He had almost made it to the door when another thought suddenly pushed aside her image for a moment and he rushed back into the kitchen.

It was only when he laid eyes on the car at last, the mild summer air welcoming him outside, that he remembered to breathe. The engine was already running, headlights on, making it impossible for him to catch sight of her familiar form in the driver’s seat. Only a few steps, one last sprint, separated him from her, a distance so small and yet she was as far away as never before.

Legs heavy as lead, he fought his way over to her, his hope that he hadn’t lost her for good yet sinking with every step he took towards the black vehicle. He needed to see her, needed to look into her eyes to know if there was reason for optimism and it was this need that made him muster the courage to close his fingers around the handle and pull.

A need, he realised, that wouldn’t be satisfied anytime soon as she just kept staring out front, not caring in the least that he had just yanked open the door, out of breath and desperate to feel her eyes on him.

“Get in.”

The tone of her voice, barely audible above the whirring of the engine, gave him nothing to ease his troubled mind. But even if it didn’t show any anger either, he knew that there was no reason for hope just yet. So he simply obeyed, gliding into the seat beside her silently.

He had expected her to hit the gas as soon as the door had fallen shut behind him, but she didn’t. Patiently he waited, a spark of newfound hope spiralling through him as the thought crossed his mind that she maybe wanted to say something, hesitating to set off until she had found the right words. And it was this tiny fragment of hope that spread his lips into an unsure smile while his arm moved on its own to hold out his pitiful peace offering to her.

And even though it didn’t make her speak, it made her look. Not at him, but at the representation of his regret, and that was good enough for him. Her eyes flicking from one burgundy bud to the next as if she had never seen a bouquet of red roses before allowed him a moment to take in the woman he loved and he couldn’t shake off the unsettling feeling that it might be the last time this privilege would ever be granted to him. For a split second, it seemed as if she would reach out to accept his apology, but instead of the flowers, her fingers closed around the gearstick and yanked it into reverse.

She was a good driver, even if she was prone to speed from time to time. Sometimes he would scold her for it, making her laugh it off every time. “It’s not my fault, Walter, you know that. It’s just the way my primal instincts react to this ridiculous amount of horse power.”

But tonight, for the first time, he couldn’t shake off the urge to hold on tight to something as the truck shot through the night and so his fingers firmly shut around the handle beside him. He didn’t let go until her foot finally left the gas and she steered the vehicle off the main road and into the pitch black darkness of a forestry trail. His hands were clammy and he tried drying them off on his shorts without catching her attention, but with every minute they ventured further into the woods, he felt the sweat return.

She still hadn’t said a word since their departure and he couldn’t think of anything sensible to talk about either, not for the life of him. To say that her unusually taciturn state threw him off would have been an absolute understatement, and slowly but surely his body switched into alert mode. He couldn’t help it. It came with the job and had slipped into his DNA after all these years. Of course, he knew that it was ridiculous. She was his sweet honey pie and she would never even think about hurting her Walter Bear, or would she? He had seen people snap and kill for less than a ruined anniversary—or two.

He jolted as the truck came to a sudden halt and risked a quick glance over at his driver. Still, nothing about her gave him a hint what she felt or what all this was about.

“Honey,” he tried, treading lightly, even though his voice was raised to drown out the roaring of the engine. “You’re making me nervous.” Halfway through his sentence she had turned the key and he felt like an idiot for hollering his insecurity into the silence that followed. He tried a meek smile to make up for the volume. “Did you take me here to get rid of me?”

But instead of laughing about his silly remark, not even the tiniest bit, she just opened the door and let the night swallow her.

“Hey, where are you going?”

Throwing the flowers carelessly onto the driver’s seat, he dashed after her. She might have given him a little scare with her strange behaviour, but thinking about her in the forest, at night, on her own, made his heart fall into the depths of his stomach instantly.

A deep sigh escaped his chest when he found her right beside the truck bed, busy rolling up the cover. Probably to get a shovel, his inner detective warned, just to look like an idiot once again when the rim of the truck bed lit up in a bunch of fairy lights as if by magic to reveal a cozy bed of blankets and pillows.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

With a contented sigh, he pulled her closer. She mimicked his movement, tightening her grip on him as well. Her hand had sneaked underneath his T-shirt a good while ago, her fingers lazily raking through his lush chest hair next to the spot where her head lay, right above his heart. He could feel her heartbeat underneath his fingertips as well, strong and steady, and he couldn’t stop a wide grin from forming when he realised that, despite everything he had feared before, it still beat for him. He was sure by now that she had staged her little surprise like this on purpose and he couldn’t blame her. He deserved every last bit of it. And he would take far worse if it meant he wouldn’t lose her.

But now that he held her in the faint light of the starry night sky, all those worries seemed long passed. And however much he tried, he couldn’t remember that he had ever felt luckier than in this exact moment. Well, maybe there was one moment…

“Do you remember our first date?” he mumbled against her silky hair.

“Of course I do. You were so nervous that night. I almost feared you had swallowed your tongue. I mean, you’re usually a man of few words, but that night I was almost sure that you weren’t the right guy for me.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“I didn’t.” She waited until he began to stir underneath her before she went on. “You did.”

“Me? How?”

Walter watched her head rise from his chest and he was about to protest when her hand abandoned caressing his fur, but then her fingers tenderly brushed aside the stray curl of hair on his forehead and he was appeased.

“Walking me home that night, making sure I got there safely and then you didn't even try to kiss me.”

“But you did.”

He grinned like the Cheshire cat as the memory played out crystal clear in his mind. God, it had been so sexy when she had slowly gotten closer, leaning in ever so slightly until he could feel the heat of her body against his own and there had been no doubt left what she had wanted him to do.

“Yes,” the curve of her lips matched his own now, “and when you finally decided to kiss me back, I knew. Gosh, I had never been kissed like that. So tender but with a touch of passion and possessiveness. And the way you held me in your arms—” He remembered. He had wanted to kiss her so badly, but he had held back, afraid to rush things, and when she had kissed him instead, everything had happened on instinct. He had pressed her to his chest, needing to feel her closer, afraid when he opened his eyes, it would have all been a dream. Walter had known in that moment as well, that he never wanted to hold anyone else from that day on. “Mmmh, nothing could ever compare to that.”

“Nothing?” His eyebrow shot up, intrigued by the challenge he sensed in her words. And with a single shake of her head, the game was on. “Will you at least let me try?”

He was met with no resistance at all when he rolled her onto her back, caging her in underneath his massive body. Instead, her teeth bit down on her lip in a gesture she knew would drive him to the edge of sanity, her fingers eagerly diving into his messy curls as he dipped down with a feral growl to claim her lips with his own.

***

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